Tamesis grins as their attackers flee before their might, and gives an approving nod to Bolvak. That's how you do it. Hit 'em hard, hit 'em fast. They can't hit back if you take 'em out fast enough.
Even as Velvet makes his way up the ladder, Tammy crouches down, removing the scarf from around Fipps' neck and extending it to Airy, "This is yours, right?" Whether she takes it or not, the tiefling does a quick search of Fipps for valuables that can't be easily traced, then indicates for Bolvak, "Help me get him into a bunk. Maybe make it look like he got too drunk last night."
Once that's done, she heads up the ladder to the main deck.
Bolvak snorts out a laugh as Fipps drops like a drunk horse dancing sideways, Dagger Dag slicks her breeches at Froggie's gabble, and Aretta can't bolt fast enough to catch up with her crew before Pretty Boy gives her a souvenir. Fine gang, theirs. If Sandara turns out to be as good as she seemed through last night's haze, they'll carve out a place for themselves alright.
"Best not take so much as a flea off that tub, else he'll have all of us frisked up and down and see to getting you a fine backscratch courtesy of the ship itself. Not likely these f*&*ers thought to bring a ruckus without being some higher-up's darling goons." He tilts his head and looks over Fipps' bruised and burned form. "Don't see why you'd waste time tryin' to cover up his thrashing, to be honest, on account of he'll have literal scars to show and three witnesses besides. We gotta get on deck snap-ish, and figure out ensorcelling that stash for Grok's discerning palate."
With that, Bolvak's off for roll call. Fingers crossed that stellar right hook doesn't land him in the bilges.
As his shuffle-step ceased and the inspired words of his ancestors faded from his mind, Likitt felt that he had done something rather cruel, but also entirely justified and mildly hilarious. The look in the madwoman's eyes as she stuttered back, then with a sound that more approached Grippli than Common, scampered away with her tail between her legs. There was something entirely satisfying about triumphing over bullies who underestimate their prey. Even so, what the rest of the renegades did to Fipp was something of wonder, a cavalcade of acid and lighting in staccato succession followed by hamfist for the K.O... These were no mere peasants brought to bear. Why didn't the spirits tell him about their capabilities?
Listening as the rest of the party discusses their cover story, the prince throws in his two coppers, "The Ta... Bolvak speaks wisely. The Lady will not find pirate gold in this one's undergarments, and the risk for such little reward seems... pointless." Muttering briefly, his hands seem to moisten with conjured water as he rubs it against his dried scalp. Fights always seemed to dry him out and it was important to prevent cracked skin and retain his royal visage. "No matter if we hide him or not, the Captain shall know, and I intend on being well behind someone who can punch better than I." With a nod of appreciation to Bolvak, he follows the giant to the main deck, wondering if the winds will favor his work today.
Tamesis rolls her eyes as the others abandon her. If she's able, she'll roll Fipps' fat ass into a bunk herself, muttering, "No, lets just leave his body on the ground, so it's OBVIOUS that he got the s!+$ kicked out of him. Never mind that it'd be easy for him to say WE jumped HIM. If he's in a bunk, he'll get the lash, instead, for being lazy and drunk."
Whether or not she succeeds, she shakes her head and makes her way up to the primary deck. Even if someone DID give them the idea to jump us, it's not the Captain, and I doubt he'd look kindly on his crew jumping each other. No, this is something else, and I'm not about to take the fall because the others can't see that.
A quick look at Fipps' unconscious body reveals three items of possible interest: a cutlass, a dagger, and a leather belt pouch.
Airy shakes her head at the scarf. "Tempting as it is, dying for theft will just leave him with it anyway. I'll get it another way. I wish I had learned to steal things like my sisters."
Airy does help Tamesis put Fipps in a hammock to make the process go by faster. "I'm not sure how we're going to spin this. Probably a lashing for the lot of us. Hope it doesn't scar my back too bad. Velvet says I've got a nice one."
She leaves the sleeping area when Tamesis does.
Tamesis shrugs and tosses the scarf under another hammock, next to the wall, "There. If he doesn't say anything about it being gone, it'll be right there for you."
As soon as Fipps is in the hammock, she makes her way up alongside Airy.
As it turns out, Syl's panicked flight provided the five of you with a perfect distraction to slip into line with the rest of the crew. Once she's calmed down, Plugg and Scourge head belowdecks to see what triggered the disturbance. They return shortly thereafter, exchanging dark looks, but say nothing. Everyone's handed their morning assignments, and the day begins. As the morning progresses, you notice Scourge talking to Aretta in a hushed tone. It's a few hours before Fipps stumbles up from belowdecks looking much the worse for wear.
When you arrive in the galley, you find Kroop passed-out drunk. Based on the amount of rum you saw him drinking last night, he'll be out for a while, and you don't envy the headache he'll likely have when he awakens. As you figure out how to proceed, a runner informs you that today's the Captain's birthday, and he's expecting something suitable to commemorate the occasion.
Tamesis suppresses a smirk as she sees Plugg and Scourge glowering. Well. That's telling. Making a mental note of who, it seems, is out to get them, she shoots Scourge a quick wink and cocky smirk when he hands her her assignment for the day. Yeah, I know what you did. And now you know that I know. Lets see what you've got, candy ass.
Even as she goes about her day, Tamesis notes the talk between Scourge and Aretta, and makes no effort to hide the fact that she is watching them, even flashing her pointed-teeth grin at them if they look at her. At some point in her day, though, she makes a point to go and see Grok.
"Hey there. How's your day going so far?"
Airy silently accepts her work assignments and informs the rest of her little group about the weather today before heading belowdecks to catch rats. "Light rain this afternoon. Pleasant the rest of the day and night."
She's not sure what to think of the look Plugg and Scourge shared. It could implicate them in sending trouble her way, or it could mean that one of her group is up for the next Bloody Hour. Nothing has gone poorly yet, but... the day is still young, and there's plenty yet that can kill them.
She's just going to take the opportunity to work hard catching these rats. Who knows? It might be fun! She'd have to be careful not to have too much fun though. That's probably a punishable offense on the Wormwood.
Bilges dodged, Bolvak wonders nonetheless how he's supposed to crush it at repairs. It was heartening that the Dagger Dag not only broke ranks but afforded him the opportunity to make the assignments assignment on time, but Bastard Cur's less than subtle interest in investigation only reminds him how much he needs his mail and shield back. Tamesis did have a chat with Grok last night, and from what he overheard it went alright - but there wasn't a word about bribery by way of tasty rum, either. He'll have to make time to swing by the quartermaster's and prime the pump, difficult as repairs may be.
As it turns out, stable hand-eye coordination and a tolerance for splinters, rope burn, and the stench of tar (it's not that different from the rum, really) is enough to get Bolvak through the day of caulking, splicing, and ad hoc carpentry. Whether any of it holds remains to be seen, but it goes well enough that he feels safe from the Bloody Hour.
Well enough that he structures a small but solid break to see Grok, too. The morning fight's weighing on his mind yet, much as he knows there's nought to be done for the now, and he needs to make sure this plan's got legs before he risks a full-blown plot to stockpile booze under Cur's ever more watchful eye.
Bolvak does, however, wait until he's seen Tamesis come and go from Grok's shop before he makes his move. Without knowing what she's got in mind, he'd rather not cramp her style.
Grok gives you a smile. "Same as it always is, mate. You come to take care of this corruption business?"
"Indeed I have!" She gives Grok a smirk in return and takes a quick glance around her little shop, "So where is the stuff I had on me when I was brought aboard? Once I've got that, I can check to see if anything has spread."
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Grok rummages around before bringing out a small pile of familiar objects. "I think this was everything."
Tamesis runs her fingers before her eyes, stating, "Покажите мне магию."
She takes a moment to look around the room as she attaches the choker around her neck and attaches the spell component pouch and cutlass to her belt. She takes her time, checking out any magical auras that actually do exist in the area. Once she's done, she dismisses the spell and nods to Grok, "Looks like anything that my blood could have caused managed to stay contained. There's some other funk going on, but it's not daemonic. Might wanna have a priest come through and drive off any foul spirits. Or that frog guy. He was talking about spirit magic last night. Anyways. Lemme know when you wanna call in that favor. Unless there's anything else, I'll be getting back to work..."
Your spell detects a total of 22 magic auras. One is your collar, three are on Grok's person , and the others appear to be coming from the various storage chests in the store. Aside from Grok's equipment and your collar, the only item that's within your line of sight is a candle in a box with several other, nonmagical, ones. All four items have faint auras.
Grok looks relieved when you pronounce the room clean. "Thanks for your help. I'll hold onto that favor for the time being. See you 'round."
Tamesis nods and heads back out to finish her day's work.
Velvet sees Scourge talking to Aretta in hushed tones. Great, the one I punched is tattling to the one that wants to whip me. And not in the fun way.
No I can't think like that, I just have to stay positive and make it through this day. Maybe chat up that Grok and see what it will take to get my longbow back, maybe chat up that Lickett to see what he can conjure besides water. That Tamesis seems resourceful, I should chat her up as well, see what she found out last night. I'll just get the cooking done as fast as possible and start talking to people. Cooking is so easy, if yesterday's job taught me anything it's that I can do any ol' thing and call it food. I'm so glad I've got the easiest gig on this ship. Nothing to fall off of or climb or catch or clean, although I guess I should be cleaning the cookware, just chop and stir and done.
Velvet smiles hopefully as he enters the galley, only to see Cook Kroop passed out on the floor. Velvet nudges him with his foot, but knows in his heart that with the amount of rum Fishguts consumed last night he won't be up anytime soon. Possibly a few days, if ever. Can't be comatose without the coma.
That's ok, just a minor setback. I saw everything he did yesterday, it will take me more time to do both sets of work but I'm sure it'll be fine. After all, as long as it's at least sort of edible it's still considered food. At this moment a runner stops by and informs Velvet that no, not just anything will do, a suitable Captain's birthday meal must be created with impeccable taste, flavour, and aesthetic value, or Scourge is going to tie his legs together, cut his webbed ears off sew them between his shoulder blades and see if a pod of dolphins accepts him as their own. Or something like that. Somewhere in there Velvet's vision blurred, he started to hear a high pitched whine that pushed all other sound into the background and he became very light headed. Is this a panic attack? Was he having a panic attack? Well stop it, stop having a panic attack Velvet.
A hand smacked him in the face and the world came into focus. It was his own hand, the runner had gone off. Presumably during Velvet's zoned out phase. Velvet checked his face for drool. There was no drool.
Ok f$&% everything else, I am a cook today. I'm a fabulous cook and that's what's going to happen because I can't think about what would happen otherwise. He shivered and went top deck to get some air.
He breathed in deeply and started thinking. He needed ingredients. They just came out of town two days ago, surely they would have pillaged some decent ingredients that hadn't gone bad yet? If all he had to work with was that cured jerky with the hardness and texture of wood, and that foul rum, he'd surely be skinned alive to make a sushi dish. He needed something special, preferably extra fatty for extra flavour. Velvet remembered one of his clients loved going on and on about his newest culinary creations, that's where he learned that fatty meats were delicious because of the umami flavour.
Just then he hears a loud squack. A medium sized goose had flown right into the mast and broken it's neck. It's body thumped down a few meters away from Velvet. For a few seconds he didn't move and stayed in his thinking position. I...I think I'm religious now. Just to cover all his bases, Velvet glanced skyward and mouthed a quick "thank you".
Velvet quickly scooped up the goose and hurried down to the galley. He plucked the goose as clean as possible. The back feathers were fairly easy, the soft down was the most difficult. There's still a few down bits left after Velvet snaped off the wings at the joint and used a cleaver to remove the neck and scaly legs. He then made a short, shallow cut from the neck of the bird and removed all the innards.
I wonder what this blue organ is. Maybe I should save the guts for a stew. Is that a thing? Wait, do some birds have a really poisonous organ that shouldn't be eaten? Or maybe I'm thinking of a fish... Velvet put all the organs, along with the wings, feet and head of the bird, aside in a bucket to deal with later. He soaked the cleaned bird in a tub of brine for a few hours as he rendered the excess fat he found inside the goose, and uses it to roast any odds and ends vegetables he can find left over from last night. He also cut many potatoes. What's next? My manacles? No I'm mixing that up. Wait, wasn't this supposed to soak in brine overnight? Whelp, too late now.
Velvet rinsed the goose in what was left of the fresh frog water. As a lucky find he discovered a few rather bruised apples, forgotten behind a crate of rum, to cut up and use as a stuffing. I'm sure no one can be too mad at me for using these up if it's for the captain. Probably. He then improvised a few very thin strips of cured jerky to sew the goose shut, it worked about as well as leather string. Velvet put the goose in a large pan and surrounded it with the cut potatoes before he made shallow pricks all over the skin of the bird, just enough to pierce the skin to reveal that glorious fat layer. He roasted the goose in the oven for many hours while keeping the side dish warm and simmering in fatty flavour up top on the stove. He wiped his brow and took a seat while he considered his position.
Every time I start thinking optimistic thoughts, something out of the blue hits me in face. My face is already blue enough. Clearly, the solution is to stop thinking so much. Velvet stops thinking until the goose is almost done. He liked to think he was meditating.
Shortly before the goose is done Velvet realizes most of the day has got away from him, but it's not too late! He finds a runner and asks them to inform the Captain that a magnificent goose feast is ready for him. It can feed 3-4 people, but of course is reserved entirely for the captain.
Velvet takes the goose out to rest. The skin is a crackling orange brown over the soft apple stuffing, and the chunks of potatoes glisten with the most umamious of fats. The bits of simmered vegetables look alright, but he wishes there was something actually green on board that wouldn't go bad. He was fairly certain that frog would turn out evil. It would also have been better if he could have found a lemon to rub on the skin before cooking, or squeeze a bit of lemon juice onto the apples before putting in the oven. But this would do.
Bolvak pops into Grok's trove after Tamesis leaves and before the afternoon rain comes. Just in case it'd sour the half-orc's disposition.
"Hello there, Grok. We haven't really met, but, I'm Bolvak - one of the new swabs. Tamesis' friend; worked for her for a little while to boot. Now, I hear tell that a good deal of gear comes into your hands, and also that you've got a taste for finer drink than the rum ration." He leans in and strokes his beard, never too neat but getting outright coarse now. "So, if I'm not wrong that you have a spiked heavy shield and a mail shirt sized for a strappin' lad like me, I've got a way to offer you liquor that's flat-out delicious."
Raising an eyebrow for effect, Bolvak hopes against hope that this is all the charm he'll need for the ol' Cut-Throat.
Grok looks interested. "I may have had somethin' like that come through here a couple days ago. What kind of liquor are we talkin'?"
"It's not some liquor in itself; that's the beauty of it. One of my friends, see, can flavour your ration and any extra portions you take to taste entirely different. Some fancy reserve spiced rum, or something lighter, like Varisian mead. Same punch as the screech, but not a hint of its foulness. The flavouring doesn't stick forever, but if last night was typical drinkin' for you, it ought be more'n enough time for you to get full enjoyment. And it's in line with the ration policy, since the process doesn't mess with the serving or results. Now, if you're interested in finding out just how well this works, I can get in touch with that friend - maybe even arrange something for dinner t'night."
Grok looks mildly interested. "That seems like a useful talent.... Sure, why not! Show me what ya' got tonight. If I like it, we'll talk more then."
"Sounds good. Provided all goes well with work t'day, I'll hook you up. Might be we can have an on-going deal. See you then." Bolvak nods and flicks a little salute at Grok, then leaves to continue repairs until the Hour arrives.
Calm, cool, and slightly moist, Likitt followed his larger comrades to assignment duty and he was tasked with the illustrious goal of realigning the upper rigging, a treacherous task for most human. Fortunately, Likitt was not most humans and as his dexterous hands maneuvered up the mast with the speed and surety of someone born for the job, he savored this moment. The winds up above always had a different taste as he rose twenty or thirty feet into the air and as he worked, his Toucan was close by to provide colorful company. Above it all, Likitt had freedom to work, repairing the sails and ensuring that the rigging was still in tact after the previous night. It was boring but comfortable.
As the hours passed, he noticed that Ratline had been tasked to be a lookout, peering up through the crow's nest at distant objects, trying to see them clearer. Prince Likitt always felt more comfortable around halflings and gnomes and the fact that Ratline was apart of that crew of bullies may have been a matter of survival. After all, he was putting his life behind a bunch of abductees for a very similar reason. He had his own goals at this. Confident that he did his job to perfection, the young prince hailed his fellow captive and clambered on over, croaking out an apology, "I certainly hope you didn't get any aftereffects of Syl... I knew she had a fondness for blades and one has to watch out for their skin. My name is Likitt, scion of the Grippli peoples."
Perhaps this was a fool's errand, but everyone had a lever that could be used to create a camaraderie. The goal was in fact, finding that lever.
"I certainly hope you didn't get any aftereffects of Syl... I knew she had a fondness for blades and one has to watch out for their skin. My name is Likitt, scion of the Grippli peoples."
A wave of realization crept down his spine as he realized a key problem with what he just said. Ratline wasn't apart of the bullying party A wash of fear and embarassment ran through him as he tried to rectify what he blurted out, "I mean, I've seen her about, whispering sweet nothings to herself, it's inevitable she'd just go screaming mad, right? Heh... Course around here, people would start to snap eventually."
The rigger chuckles. "She's a strange one, all right. Today's the first time I've seen her that b@&+%~+, though. Best laugh I've had in a while! Course, there ain't much to laugh at these days..."
The Grippli Prince nods in understanding, grateful to know he could smooth over such a faux pas. "That's the truth. Even the liquor is tar-rate. Could do better to fill cracks than down our gullets." He pauses a moment, looking into the distance as if listening to something. The spirits always had something new to say, but interpreting it was another story. "Not to pry too much, but we're all stuck here. Might as well help each other out. I saw you take a beating last night and yet you're back up here. Must be brutal on your back." He leaves his last statement subtle, his tone offering assistance and healing, but with the caution not to wound a halfling's pride. Likitt mutters a quick thanks to the Spirits, hands cupped as it miraculously fills with pure water.
All of this was in full sight of Ratsberger, not only as a acceptance of trust, but to instill him the realization that if he could conjure water, perhaps there were other things the amphibian could do.
It all relied in the mind of the halfling. Likitt wondered if he was also a half-wit.
The halfling watches intently as you work your magic. "So, you're like Harrigan's woman - a caster. You don't seem like a dick, though. What's your deal?"
The bait has been set. Likitt looks the halfling with utmost seriousness and mutters, "I had my freedom and my dreams stripped from me over a shot of fine rum. I don't intend on spending the rest of my life doing this." In the isolation of the highest part of the rigging, Likitt feels comfortable speaking the truth. "We are all captives here and the time will come... Until then, we have to keep together and prepare ourselves. Did they take anything important from you?"
Ratline scowls. "I grew up in Cheliax. Worked hard for years to buy my freedom. Life on the Wormwood... makes me wish I was back there."
So the halfling grew up under this sort of treatment, at least in a sense. Still, it seemed the lad had some grasp on the situation and could certainly lend a hand. The distant noises below alerted Likitt that the night's festivities may be coming all-too-quickly, so he could not sit and chat, "Stay strong and silent until the time arrives. There shall be a reckoning."
With that, he patted the Halfling's back, letting loose a pulse of healing energies on what wounds remained from the Bloody Hour. Sure, he might have needed it later, if he was the one to be whipped, but his new ally was worth investing in.
The day's work completed, it's time for the Bloody Hour. Once the entire crew is assembled, Scourge announces who get to meet the lash tonight. "For disorderly conduct: Syl Lonegan." The insane woman shrieks wildly as she takes her lashes. "For failing to assemble for daily duties in a punctual manner: Fipps Chumlett." The man barely flinches as he takes his lashes. It's obvious that Scourge didn't put any effort into it. The bastard...
Punishments concluded, it's time to eat! In honor of his birthday, Captain Harrigan is presented with an exquisite-looking goose. It smells absolutely divine. Unfortunately, it's just for the ship's trio of officers. Everyone else gets leftover skilly 'n duff. And, of course, a large ration of rum.
Tammy smirks at Scourge as he makes his picks. She tries to catch his eye, to see if he's going to pull one of her new allies. When he declines, she outright grins at him. Oh yeah. You know better, you little s&+#.
After she gets her leftovers, and briefly chides herself for preparing a combat spell instead of her usual Prestidigitation, she makes her way back away from the officers, and dumps her poison over the side.
She does pause next to Fipps, though, and plops down next to him. She gives him a toothy grin and takes a bite of her food, "No hard feelings about this morning, you know. No need to apologize, or anything. I know it probably wasn't your idea. That said, I don't think you want to come after us again. We make better friends than enemies, as I'm sure you've figured out. Just something to think on."
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Fipps, still rather bruised, glares sullenly at you. "We was just havin' a bit of fun. You coulda killed me. You b##+@."
The relief of escaping the Bloody hour is but slightly tarnished by Chumlette getting off so lightly. Now Bolvak knows that Cur had something to do with that pathetic show of truculence, if he didn’t put Fipps and co. up to it in the first place. Not surprising; still irritating. Lucky that there’d soon be half a dozen spikes in hand for to mount the ‘Master’s’ head, provided the Varisian would go along with the prestidigilibation scheme. Less lucky? The Dagger Dag. Hung out to dry, likely just because the addled one was easiest to scapegoat. As hard as it is to feel for her, thinking back on the morning, the treachery’s yet another reason the Hour doesn’t sit right with Bolvak. Hopefully Syl comes out of it whispering only ‘Fipps’, ‘Aretta’, ‘Jape’, and ‘Scourge’ to her knives tonight.
What is truly upsetting that night is dinner itself. The rum’s smell isn’t actually that noticeable after lugging a tar pot around most of the day, but the aroma of that roast goose – the very sound of the crisp skin crackling, of meat juices flowing with every bite – is worse than one score lashes. With the reboiled duff staring up at him, mocking, it’s outrageous. Put diplomatically: f&%~ing infuriating.
But the matter of Grok’s magically delicious booze remains, and for that Bolvak restrains himself. He stands after eating and seeks out Airy, rum in hand - best to get this business sorted before he risks pitching it. When he finds her, he takes a seat, if possible. "Remember what you said 'bout your favourite spell yesterday? I got a plan to get our gear back from the good quartermaster."
Tamesis smirks at Fipps, "Sure, sure. Loads of fun. Except, you underestimated your targets, didn't you? And you paid the price for it. I trust you won't make the same mistake, again. I've got a huge legacy to live up to, Fipps. And I'll have to consume a lot of souls in the process. I'm sure you'll figure out, sooner or later, that you'd rather be helping me than be in my way."
She shrugs and continues eating.
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Velvet lets out a sigh of relief when he sees the captain satisfied with the goose. He didn't even know he was holding his breath. The Bloody Hour was a bit stressful. If it came to it he was going to, truthfully, claim he wanted to make it on deck on time and only threw a single punch because someone was in the way. It's not like it was a blow meant to kill, let alone magic. Not that the punishment for tardiness seems all that severe, he thinks with a puckered face, Scourge lashing Fipps like a filthy casual.
He wonders what he should do with that bucket of goose bits in the galley. Hide it in someone's bed as a joke? Yeah, anyone with an actual bed would have the rank of 'One-who-keelhauls-so-called-jokesrs'. Still, the idea is amusing. It's all about finding joy in the little things, when one is press ganged. At least they didn't have mandatory slave tattoos. Some of the Fish back at the House had those kinds of marks. Most hid them with makeup or self imposed scarring, nobody wanted the reminder. It was all about image and fantasy, if a client thoughts of you coincided with dirty hard labour they were unlikely to call again. Unless they liked the slave type. Ironically the only employees willing to serve these particular clients had no slave history, painted with temporary ink.
But, this was tangential thinking. He needed to focus on the present. Velvet picked up his mug of rum and glanced at it unhappily. He wasn't usually picky about this sort of thing but in this case he really, did not want that in his mouth. He spots Airy with that large human. Not really having anywhere else to go, he joins them.
Another day on this accursed vessel and another Bloody Hour. However, the tables seemed turned as Syl and Fipps are the ones on the whipping block. Of course they were all in alliances, weren't they? A show of force needed to be made, but not enough to break a man, or a halfling for that matter. The Prince felt drawn on the issue, a natural careful and somewhat cowardly approach urging him not to stick his neck out, but his brain telling him that it would only be a matter of time before he'd be flayed alive for some transgression. He needed to find a way to escape.
The tantalizing aroma of roasted goose floated around the Cap'ns chair and while he was in good spirits, none of the other crewmates appeared to be pleased by their leftovers, turned even sweeter with a day's fermenting. Kings of Sloth and Greed are overthrown if they lavish in front of their citizens. Do you not read history, you fool? Likitt kept his head down.
All the easier to hide his grin.
Tall folk tended to congregate in groups and it showed. The sycophants generally chatted together, drank themselves silly, while others tried to form groups. It seemed Likitt had his own party he felt comfortable with and sat comfortably next to Bolvak, his minute form dwarfed in a way that made him quite tough to notice. All was good.
In a hushed croak, the Grippli speaks, "Rattsberger is an ally with us, and still we must drink this swill. I worry I shall not be able to hide it all without catching Scourge's eye."
Everyone eats on the Main Deck of the Wormwood.
Fipps grunts and walks away, clearly uncomfortable remaining in your presence.
Tamesis chuckles to herself as she wanders back to the rest of the group to finish the meal before bed.
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Airy quite enjoyed her time catching rats. It's not her usual form of entertainment but it's not like she's got anything else to do on this ship of pirates; nothing else that she'd want to do, at least. She's almost sad that the little dears will probably end up being their meal for a few days. Fried rat kebabs? She's had worse, like the slop served on this ship already.
Bloody Hour goes by without much incident, to her great relief. She was positive she'd be disciplined in some way for the fight belowdecks. She escapes scarring for another day! It's only a matter of time until her luck runs out, though, and given Scourge's lenient whipping, she's willing to bet her own future punishment won't be so light. She and her companions need to escape soon, before they get collectively keelhauled.
So far so good... Airy's mild flash of excitement about the goose is quickly dashed when she realizes the crew gets leftover sludge for dinner. She sighs, tries very hard to not think about the goose, grabs a bowl and sits far, far away from the officers. Their distraction should make it easier to toss her mug of rum, at least.
Not long after she sits down with her bowl of Crème de Death and mug of liquid sewage, Bolvak joins her. "I could use my spell components. And my tattoo designs... what's the plan?" Airy responds, smiling at Likitt once he joins them.
"Turns out Grok's got a taste for fancy liquor, so I figured that you could flavour even the ration to taste like that top-shelf rum what got us pressganged in the first place. Went and saw Grok t'day to propose trading such service for our gear - well, I mean, I mentioned mine specifically, on account of I don't know what everyone else's got, but I don't see why we couldn't all get our stuff back, so - at any rate, point is, she's interested to try it. Tonight good for you to give it a shot?"
Velvet nods appreciatively.
"Sounds like a solid plan. I'd love to have my longbow and arrows back. Then I could shoot down enough fowl to cook for everyone, amongst other things."
"I don't suppose either of you know how to reliably ger rid of this swill without the threat of lashing? It's only that I'm not keen to repeat last night's lovely chat with Scourge. I doubt he'd treat me as gently as he did Fipps."
"By the way, I didn't catch your name," Velvet addresses Bolvak.
There are many things that were taken from me; My armor, my family's rapier, my pouch of spell components, but most important is an etching of an ancient Grippli Language. It is the only link I have to the culture that came before me, lost to time. I must have that back..."
Glancing about at the nearest hiding places, Likitt found there to be few. Buckets could be had and there was always over the side, but if they were going to use this rum, there was no point in wasting it. Muttering lowly, Likitt explained, "I may be able to hide all of your drinks, but I'll need a distraction... Something to take Scourge's attention without causing anyone to be hurt..." Glancing into the distance, he waited for something he could use to cover, raising his tin of skilly to his lips and swallowing the ill-heated substance.
"Well... Airy idly draws her finger on the wood, "I don't see why not. It doesn't take but a word and intent for prestidigitation to work. I might need her to describe some drinks for me if I haven't had them personally, but that'd be the only complication."
Airy quickly casts prestidigitation on her bowl of sludge to make it taste like fine roast goose. Just because the officers have a death wish doesn't mean she can't fake it! Her eyes flutter in pleasure after a bite. As terrible as the past two days have been, she can at least lie to her taste buds!
"A distraction... I could try to distract him, but that's not the kind of attention I think I want to draw to myself. Personally, if I were eating that feast, I'd give no damns about what the rest of the crew is doing with their rum."
Bolvak nods at Airy. "I mentioned to Grok that citrusy rum what Plugg had rolled out at the tavern and it appealed, so we might start there when you're ready to head over t' her table. See how generous it gets her feelin'."
He presses his lips together as the conversation turns clandestine. "Oughta do that deal before we try any distractions or rum-chucking, in case we end up in trouble with Bastard Cur. We've made a big list to barter for; it'll take even longer to get it all if we lose tonight's opportunity."
"Oh, and it's Bolvak," he says to Velvet. "Yours?"
Velvet leans forward, interlocks his fingers and puts his chin on the back of his hands. He quirks a smile and gives a small wink.
"Darling, you can call me whatever you like."
Bolvak blinks, deadpan, and leans toward Airy without breaking eye contact with the Undine. He whispers, "What's his name?"
Airy quirks a brow, eyes shifting between the two. The right side of her mouth turns up and reveals the white of her teeth. She leans a bit closer to Bolvak to answer with a whisper full of implications, "Velvet." The word hangs off of her tongue and leaves her lips like a caress of a near imperceptible breeze on the cheek.